


Washing Away My Sins

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [52]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some quiet one on one time for Joyce and Ethan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washing Away My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Tears of Dying Grace.
> 
> Written by Mydeira, beta'd by Sadbhyl

Ethan had always been a man of action. If things weren’t going his way, he made them. It was simple, effective, and had gotten him quite far in life. It had gotten him all the way to Sunnydale, where he could no longer bend the world to his will. And his undoing lay in the delicate hands of the woman sleeping curled in his arms.

Rupert had left them while they slept, sometime in the night, most likely to give Ethan and Joyce some real time alone with each other. It was an odd reversal of their roles from when the relationship began. Back when Ethan left out of self-preservation. Avoid Ripper’s wrath and not risk getting tied down. Only when it was too late did he realize that there was no escape. That first night in Ripper’s flat had sealed the deal, whether any of them saw it or not. They were inescapably bound together.

But ask him not twenty-four hours ago if Joyce Summers would ever grace his bed again, and he would have laughed, because the man who could once do anything he wanted could not get the woman he loved to forgive him. And why should she? He’d help tear her daughter from paradise. No mother could forgive that. Not that he believed she had forgiven him, completely, or ever would, but she now seemed to understand why. If you couldn’t have forgiveness, understanding was the next best thing.

Joyce stirred, working herself closer as she woke. “Tell me it’s not morning yet,” she mumbled against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head. “It’s not morning.”

“Yes it is,” he felt her frown.

“So what of it?”

She pulled back enough to look up at him. “Business to run, remember?”

“You still have assistants, do you not?” She nodded. “Then call in sick.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I believe you own the gallery. I think that entitles you to a day here or there.” He then added, voice light, “You could always tell them the truth.”

“Which is?” she asked with a slow smile.

“That your lover refuses to let you leave,” he replied, holding her tighter.

“Sick it is,” she conceded, her lips brushing lightly across his.

Ethan deepened the kiss, leisurely drawing her in. Her right arm slithered up around his neck, holding him to her as her mouth grew more demanding. Meanwhile, her left hand played thoughtfully across his chest, occasionally teasing lower but mainly seemed content just touching him. His own hands roamed everywhere they could across Joyce’s soft flesh, reveling in the touch he had so long been denied.

“Gods but I’ve missed you,” he sighed, nosing along a fine cheekbone to nuzzle lightly at her ear.

She sighed at his words, rolling onto her back and pulling him with her, legs opening for him. He slid into her as easily as coming home, propping himself up so he could look at her. Joyce looked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep and spent emotions, a small, sad smile on her lips.

Hips rocking in a gentle rhythm, Ethan brought his hand up to caress her face.

“My dear girl, what’s wrong?” he asked with concern.

“Nothing,” she breathed, matching the easy pace he set. “Nothing is wrong. That’s what’s wrong.”

Her hand came up to capture his, bringing them down to rest over her heart, the steady pumping vibrating against his fingertips.

“How could I stay away for so long?” she wondered.

And he answered her the only way he could, by kissing her with attentive devotion as he made slow love to her in the morning light.

 

 

Hours later, they both lay in his tub, relaxing in the soothing warmth. Joyce rested comfortably against his chest.

“I’ve missed this the most, I think,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Baths?” Ethan teased lightly. “You gave up on baths because you were pissed at me? My dear girl, I am flattered.”

Joyce laughed. “I actually think this is the first bath I’ve had in months. But what I meant was that I missed this. Being with you.”

He tongued her ear lightly. “I must say, I prefer it when it’s Ripper you’re pissed at, and not myself.”

“But making up has its advantages, wouldn’t you say?” she looked knowingly back at him.

“That much is true,” he said, nuzzling against her neck, soft beard brushing her skin.

She snaked a hand back to rub against his cheek, her fingertips threading through the bristles. “So what made you decide to do this?”

“Would you believe that I felt so completely wretched that I gave up caring about my appearance altogether?” He tried to hide the truth of the comment with his usual flip tone, but didn’t think it worked too well.

“I think the fact that it’s neatly trimmed undermines that. I do like it, don’t get me wrong,” Joyce smiled.

And he knew for a fact she had liked it quite a bit, had felt her react at the first touch of it, the coarse hairs against the most sensitive skin of her inner thighs nearly sending her over with first contact.

“But I miss seeing your face.”

“And what are you proposing we do about it?”

Joyce turned so she was facing him. Biting her lower lip. “Well, I was wondering if you might let me shave it off.”

His eyes narrowed in consideration. “Let me see your legs.”

“What?”

“Let me see your legs.”

Shrugging, but looking at him as if he’d gone mad, she carefully lifted her right leg out of the water. Ethan took it and began to inspect. He stopped at her ankle, the outside of which had a sizeable scar.

He quirked an eyebrow in silent communication, and she seemed to finally understand what he was doing.

“I was twelve,” she explained, “inexperienced and in a hurry. And yes, I was fortunate not to need stitches.”

Ethan grinned and gently lowered her leg back into the bath. “The left?”

Joyce splashed him in response. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

“And where is the fun in that?” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “You may do as you like, Joyce. I put my life completely in your hands.” All joking aside, he trusted the woman implicitly. And for him that was no easy chore. She’d found her way into his heart. It was why he had remained regardless of how bleak his chances were.

“Really?” she asked, her excited voice cutting through his somber thoughts.

“Anything you should need can be found above the sink.”

Joyce untangled herself from his embrace and got out of the tub. Not bothering with a towel she made her way to the sink to seek out a razor and shaving cream.

The warm water welcomed her as she reentered the tub and sat facing him once again. Propping the razor on the lip of the tub, she opened the canister and sprayed a generous amount of gel into her palm. Working it into a rich lather, she spread it thickly over his beard. It felt heavy and cool, with a slight tingling as the foam worked its way between the hairs with the aid of Joyce’s gentle touch.

“Last chance,” she said, waving the razor almost menacingly.

“It’s on your head,” he replied soberly, knowingly his grin gave his true feelings on the matter away. He was quite curious as to how the experience would go.

She started near his left cheekbone and worked in small delicate strokes with the grain. Slowly his face began to emerge. Upper lip, then chin, and finally high right cheek. Joyce sat back and admired her handiwork, rinsing the blade a final time and setting it aside.

“Well?” he inquired.

She leaned forward and kissed him. Finished, she nestled close and rubbed her cheek against his, and he realized just how sensitive his skin had grown in a few short months.

“It’ll do,” she sighed contentedly.

His hand came up and ran along his cheek. “Impressive,” he smiled.

“Considering the number of times I’ve had to shave my legs over the years, I would think I could manage a passable job,” Joyce said proudly.

Ethan’s hand slid along her leg under the water, “Seems you’ve been a bit neglectful.”

The color rose in her cheeks. She was beyond gorgeous.

“I didn’t think . . . it’d be an issue,” she explained shyly.

“You had no intention beyond talking, did you?” he realized.

She shrugged. “You’d think I’d know better by now, but . . .” she trailed off, looking very sad at that moment.

How much time they’d wasted over stupid, petty misunderstanding. Or so it seemed now, looking back.

Ethan carefully lifted her chin, leaving her no choice but to look at him.

“I can never tell you how sorry I am for hurting you,” his voice was low and heavy with regret.

“No, more, please,” she begged quietly. “I just want to get back to the way things were.”

Ethan pulled her close as she curled up in his arms.

“I don’t like not having you in my life,” she whispered.

“As you’ve found, it’s very difficult to get rid of me,” he brushed back her hair to kiss her forehead lightly. Deciding that things were getting a bit too melancholy, he picked up the razor and twirled it, “Now about those legs of yours . . .”

She batted him playfully. “I’m not going to live this down, am I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind it. You have seen Rupert, haven’t you?”

Joyce lifted her head to glare at him.

“Just offering to return the favor. I’ll make it well worth your while. And you won’t have to do it yourself, or risk scarring those delightful ankles,” he said as his hand glided along her leg.

“If you’d left off the part about my ankles . . .” she grinned. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

They slid around each other so now Joyce was reclined against the back of the tub with Ethan between her legs. He was finding it very difficult not to get distracted by the view.

Her eyes were dancing when he managed to look up at her. “Too daunting of a task?” she asked sweetly.

“A bit of a challenge, I’ll admit.”

Ethan slowly lifted her left leg out of the water, propping her foot up against his chest. Balancing it there, he allowed himself a generous dollop of the shaving gel to spread in a thick coat up her leg. The woman had the most phenomenal legs, tan and shapely, but never so attractive as when they were wrapped around him.

“Ethan?” her eyebrow shot up.

And he realized he done little more than continuously caress her leg. “I love your legs,” he explained while reaching for the razor.

He began with short, smooth strokes, revealing a couple inches at a time. Joyce watched him intently, breath growing shallower and more quick as he progressed. By the time he moved on to her right leg, her color had risen slightly. He could tell it was taking some effort for her to remain still. The silky caress of the blade, almost but not quite dangerous, left an even, glistening plane behind as water droplets beaded and ran down.

The water had cooled down considerably when he finished the final swipe, rinsing the blade in the water one last time in the pattern he had established, but he barely noticed. And it seemed Joyce didn’t either. Her eyes were lidded as he lowered the leg back into the bath.

“That was . . .” she licked her lips, searching for the words.

But he didn’t wait for answer, tossing the razor aside as he moved over her, coming to rest pressed flush against her and settling between her still outstretched thighs.

“That was by far one of the most difficult things I have ever done,” he growled, his lips mere inches from her own.

“It’s not that difficult,” she said with a sultry smile.

“You, my dear, are unable to fully appreciate the view.”

“Distracting, huh?”

“Completely.” He kissed her without further ado, proving to her how distracting the view had been.

She moved beneath him, guiding his cock surely inside.

“So,” she broke this kiss, “how’s the view now?”

Ethan combed his fingers through Joyce’s hair, lifting her closer. “Extremely distracting.”

“Good,” she breathed.

And there was no more talking. A tangle of lips and limbs, tongues dueling as they fought for friction in the frictionless bath water. But the intensity of their shaving play worked to their advantage. Ethan had been so close while he’d worked, that he hadn’t been exaggerating as the difficulty; it had taken every ounce of concentration not to stop after the first few strokes and take her. And now that he had her, all he needed was just a bit more—he felt her tighten around him, pulling him over the edge with her, their mutual groans of release echoing off the tile.

They lay there until the cold water became too much, forcing them to rise.

Ethan reached for a thick terry cloth towel and wrapped it securely around Joyce, hugging her close.

She peered up at him. “You do know that you’ve completely ruined me for regular baths.”

“And the downside is?”

“I don’t think there is one,” she replied, shivering slightly.

“This won’t do at all,” he tsked, lifting her into his arms and moving back to the bedroom. After setting Joyce gently on the bed, he joined her, curling up behind and pulling the thick comforter over them.

She snuggled close. “I think we found the downside.”

“Ah, but it’s so easily remedied,” he murmured against her neck.

“That settles it,” she said, her voice sleepy, “I’m never taking another bath alone.”

Ethan smiled as he felt her relax, breathing slowing to a deep, even rhythm. A part of him almost felt bad that Rupert had missed out. But the man had made his own choice, and Ethan really couldn’t feel that bad about having Joyce all to himself. Besides, he highly doubted that the three of them could fit in the tub.  



End file.
